The Summer After
by darkravine
Summary: He tries to think back ... when people had been practically lining up to get in good with Aaron Echolls’ son, the great movie actor. Now here he is, former heir to millions, Logan Echolls: Ward of the State." spoilers for s1
1. Part 1

When it comes down to it, he thinks the court-appointed psychiatrist is actually right: drugs are your friends. Of course, the thin-lipped, stuffy old bat doesn't exactly put it like that. She more or less asks him how he's feeling, nods in all the right places until he slips her up with one of his more mundane sarcastic remarks, and then frowns disapprovingly. But not before scribbling down yet another prescription for yet another antidepressant and hastily shoving it towards him. Yes, ma'am. He gets the message loud and clear. Drugs are definitely your friends.

Especially in a world where the walking, talking variety aren't really accessible to him anymore.

He tries to think back to the time when that had never been a problem for him, when people had been practically lining up to get in good with Aaron Echolls' son, the great movie actor. Now here he is, former heir to millions, Logan Echolls: Ward of the State.

The foster home they placed him in is a complete shithole. Two bedrooms to house the various dirty faces of at least four other children (he's never been quite able to keep count), all under the age of 6. Victims of happenstance similar to his own, but too young to really completely understand the hell their life will become as a result. Except for Pedro. Yeah, that kid definitely knows what's coming. Proof was never more evident the night the stupid kid decided to pee in his bed, and then proceeded to smirk at him all throughout the next day.

His foster parents welcomed them into their dingy abode with an excitement usually reserved to winning the lottery, chattering on about how sorry they were for everything's that happened, and how they hope they can make everything as "comfortable as possible". But he's not stupid. He knows they're secretly stoked that they pulled the longest straw out of the foster pool, and now they have something to talk about with their trailer park friends. _"_The_ Logan Echolls? He's living with you? On a scale of one to ten: how fucked up is he?"_

He can practically write the tell-all story himself.

The line in the pharmacy is long enough to warrant a cigarette, a new habit he's picked up since living with the Edmans. Bonnie practically shoved her own pack at him that first night. "If you need anything, just let me know," she had said, with a smile and a wink, like it was their little secret. _Yeah. Okay. So you won't mind if I nab that bottle of Vicodin from your medicine cabinet then. Seeing as you want to make things as "comfortable as possible". And believe you me, Vicodin is much more comfortable then having to be lucid around you._

He's almost finished with the damn thing when he sees her, staring at him from across the street. A muttered curse never quite makes it out, and for a moment, he's just as frozen as she is. That is, until, the truck driver running through the intersection leans on his horn, startling him out of whatever the fuck he's thinking. With a wry smile, a small shake of his head, he heads back into the pharmacy, hoping against hope she decides to leave it be, and let alone.

10 minutes later, and, "So . . . you're smoking now."

No such luck apparently.

He glances sideways at her and guffaws. "Veronica Mars. _Wow._ Your powers of observation are as astute as ever. Tell me again that one about the ex-boyfriend who killed his girlfriend."

She prickles, and he finds a silent satisfaction in that. "I wasn't wrong about that, you know. Just had the wrong ex-boyfriend," she hedges.

He nods once, and keeps his eyes on the three people in line in front of him. "Right. Whatever. Listen, I've got things to do. Like entertaining the psychiatrist's weekly miracle drug of choice." He takes a deep breath and turns to face her, sizing her up. "Not really in the mood to figure out what the hell you could want from me now, alright?"

He feels her gaze, and shifts uncomfortably on two feet. Her voice is resolved, but a little shaky, as she says, "I just thought you should know. I didn't really get a chance to tell you that night. That I never wanted to believe it. I never wanted to think you could do that."

Logan bites his lower lip. "It doesn't matter," he says quietly. "You still did. What I'm wondering now, is what we could possibly have left to talk about."

He's almost relieved when she doesn't say anything for awhile. But then, he feels her hand land lightly on his back, a bare touch and then it's gone. "The prosecution has asked me to testify. Next Thursday."

_"I was hoping it would be you."_

_Logan stands in front of her door, and she's unable to make out the expression on his face. The red eyes tell her he's been crying, but other than that, there's no indication that he's feeling anything at all. She falters for a minute, glancing down at the arms crossed around his chest and takes a deep breath. "Come in."_

_He stares at her for a minute before complying, looking every which direction but her. "I didn't know where else to go," he admits tiredly while stepping inside. "Weevil … wasn't very clear. He basically told me … that my … dad …" He stops suddenly, and rushes to the bathroom, and Veronica winces as she hears the tell-tale signs of him getting sick._

_A few minutes later, he emerges, a hand to his mouth. "I guess my tolerance for vodka has suddenly plummeted. My mom would be so disappointed in me. You know that old saying: Practice, practice, practice," he sing-songs, retrieving the metal flask from his jacket pocket and taking a swig._

_She stares at him behind hooded eyes, unable to reconcile this Logan in front of her to the one that she had been coming to know. Self-destructive behavior aside, the lanky boy in front of her is a completely different person, buzzing with an energy as yet unleashed, and she's not really sure how this night is going to play out. She notices the way he swallows, unaffected by the burn of alcohol, and it reminds her of her mother. She could do that, too – swallow entire bottles of ice cold vodka as easily as if it had really been spring water. "Did you drive here?" she asks, gently prodding the flask from his hand._

_Logan watches her fingers on his, his brow slowly wrinkling as he notices the bandages. "What happened to you?" he asks suddenly, grabbing her wrist with his other hand. His eyes search out hers, and then he sees it: the purplish bruise blooming against pale skin right below her eye. "What happened?" he repeats, more forcefully this time, thumb brushing lightly over her cheek._

_She lightly swaps his hand away, sucking in a breath and then letting it out slowly. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. It's over."_

_Logan looks at her hard, unbelievingly, and she knows she can't sugar-coat what happened anymore. So she tells him, quietly, and uneasily … everything. Everything that led up until her almost-fiery death. Duncan and her possibly sibling affair, the paternity test, when she realized she was wrong about Duncan's involvement in Lilly's murder._

_When she's finished, he doesn't say anything for a full four minutes, eyes cast resolutely to the floor in front of him. She's doing her best to not stare at him. Bites down the impulse to ask him if he's alright. Because, really, how could he be, and that question's always seemed kind of trite to her anyway. _

"_I've gotta get out of here." And suddenly he's on his feet and heading toward the door._

"_Logan. Don't. I don't think … you really shouldn't drive."_

"_Relax. You can save the public service announcement." He fishes around in his back pocket for a moment before producing his platinum card. "No limit. For the time-being, anyway. Might as well take advantage." He stares oddly at the credit card in his hand, and finally harrumphs. "What do you know? You really do want to take these things sky diving."_

_Veronica tilts her head at him questioningly. "Logan, you're not making sense. Just … stay here tonight. You shouldn't be alone."_

"_Oh, so now you're the expert on what I need to be doing right now?" He stares at her incredulously. "Not 12 hours ago, you thought I was the one who killed Lilly. You and your father did everything in your power to send me to jail. You think that that slipped my mind? That now that the family tragedy has unfolded, I need you to fix it and make it all better?" He takes a step closer to her, and she can smell the vodka like breathing poison emanating from him. "News flash, Veronica. I don't need you telling me what's best, or how I should be feeling, or whether or not I should be driving. I don't need you at all."_

_She tries not to let the sting of his words get to her, but it's been so long since she's been on the receiving end of his barbed remarks that it hurts just a little. "Fine. I get it. You're angry-" he snorts derisively, and she plugs on, "-and … all I can do is say that I'm sorry-"_

"_No." He shakes his head almost petulantly and plasters on a phony smile. "You don't get to say you're sorry. Because you're not. The truth is, you'd do it all over again."_

"_And wouldn't you!" She's suddenly angry, and it doesn't help that he's standing there looking at her as if she's completely lost her mind. "To finally know who killed your girlfriend, the girl you supposedly loved?"_

_For just a second, he's calm, eyes half closed as he regards her intently. Then he whirls to action, arm snapping back. She yelps and covers her face reflexively, but lets loose when she hears the metal flask make contact with the wall behind her. And then Logan's hands are on her shoulders, forcing her to face him._

"_Supposedly loved! Lilly was my life. She was the best thing that ever happened to me." He takes a deep breath, eyes roving over hers before releasing her gently. "The only thing I'd do over," he continues, a little more quietly, "is … you. As in, never shoulda." He stares at her for a moment, a slight shrug and half-smile. _

_Veronica does her best to meet his eyes, take his punishment. Because, really, she deserves it. But the tears are coming hard and fast, and it's all she can do to stand there. And that's when he decides it's best to leave well enough alone, slipping out the door into the night air._

He blinks at her, momentarily taken aback. "Testifying?" he repeats.

She nods once, and glances up at him. "Evidentiary hearings. Just me, the judge, the lawyers, and … Aaron."

"So one big happy reunion then. Make sure to say 'hi' for me." He swivels around her and steps up to the pharmacist, hastily handing him the prescription. But she's right back next to him inside of a second, hand grabbing his arm and twirling him to face her.

"This isn't some joke, Logan. Your father's going to trial, and when he's found guilty, he's probably going to die."

"What the hell do you want from me!" He glances surreptitiously around him, and lowers his voice to an angry whisper. "You've informed me of your intent to testify, and I've responded. Message received. Now go. Away." She blinks at the last word, and for a moment, he feels a small amount of guilt creep in. Not enough to warrant an apology, though, so he pays for his prescription and saunters off.

"Where are you staying?" Her voice is quiet, and for the first time since running into her, he doesn't feel the need to verbally attack. Instead, he busies himself with twisting the top off the bottle and pouring its contents into the trashcan outside of the pharmacy. She raises an eye but doesn't comment.

"Well, I'll give you a hint. It's not the Four Seasons." He smiles lopsidedly, and she gives a little one of her own in return. "The court decided to place me in foster care. You know, just until I turn 18. Because foster care is a well-established environment of healing and tranquility." He grimaces as he fishes the bottle of Vicodin out from his back pocket and twists the cap off.

"Self-medicating also. Gee, Logan. You're the picture of emotional health." She watches as he switches out the pills into the prescription bottle and tosses the Vicodin.

"Wasn't I always," he quips, leaning back against the store front. Veronica steps to stand directly in front of him, eyes suddenly serious.

"Where's Trina?" she asks, hand gravitating gently to his arm. He stares at her hand on him, and can't help but notice a flicker of whatever that had been between the two of them take up permanent resident in his gut. He shuffles awkwardly and stares at something past her shoulder.

"Hell if I know. Maybe she just took off. Couldn't deal." He shrugs half-heartedly. "Not that I blame her. For once, she has the right idea."

Veronica chews on her lower lip for a minute, and he can almost hear the mental gears grinding. "Listen, I've gotta …" he trails off, and jabs his thumb in the general direction of his X-Terra.

She nods slowly, and removes her hand, and finds himself missing the warmth of it. It's been so long since anyone has touched him that he'd almost forgotten what it was like. And the fact that it's her, standing in front of him, real and not some distorted memory tainted by betrayal and mistrust makes it all so much more confusing. He decides to quit before he thinks to hard on the subject and starts to head to his car.

"I've missed you." It's so quiet, he almost thinks he's imagined it, but when he turns to see her, eyes a little hazy and planted firmly to the ground in front of her, he knows. He struggles a bit with what to do with that information, and finally settles for a question of his own, one he's sure to regret asking later, but can't seem to help himself regardless.

"Hey, Veronica." He waits until her eyes slide up to his before licking his lips and trudging on. "With us. You know. Was it always about finding Lilly's killer?"

He hasn't articulated the question in the way he wanted, but he knows she gets the meaning all the same. She drops her gaze, shakes her head slightly, and breathes out, "No." It seems like an eternity before her eyes meet his again, but when they do, there's something in her expression and he knows she's answering sincerely. But then everything's awkward again, and he's cursing himself for even wanting to ask her this, for needing it in the first place.

In the end, he decides to leave it for another day and smiles lackadaisically. "Well, I guess I'll see you around." And it's lame, and he knows it's lame, but he's been off his game for quite some time now as it is.

tbc ...


	2. Part 2

She dreams in shades of Echolls'. First, dark ugly purples and reds, bruises and blood – Aaron, in his element. Then Lynn, clean white and innocent influxed, then consumed, with hues of amber. Her deliverance and demise coursing through like wildfire. The fire peters out, gives way to green and brown, a primitive wilderness in obscurity bespattered in new growth – her very own work-in-progress. She thinks she smiles then, but it's hard to tell. Logan has always been an enigma in her life, even before Lilly died.

Her father's voice is jarring, spinning her from her dream into an almost-conscious state that leaves her mildly confused. A groan, and then her hand is reaching out to unceremoniously shove Backup off from his perch at her feet. Backup wags his tail hopefully from his stance on the floor, and she grimaces. "Yeah, yeah," she grumbles as she sits up, bleary-eyed. "Just give me five minutes, and then we'll talk leashes."

Sweats and a tank-top later, Veronica and Backup make their way to the beach. She prays for a short walk, but Backup has other plans as he chases after a low-flying kite and nearly jerks the leash out of her hands. By the time they make it back, she's sweating and just a stone's throw away from starvation. She nearly drops down to her knees in gratitude when the unmistakable smell of breakfast wafts through her open kitchen window.

Keith is overly-enthusiastic as always, singing badly as he flips slightly burned pancakes while sipping cautiously at the coffee in his other hand. That's her dad – mediocre multi-tasker, and she smiles a little at him. Glad to see him happy.

"Are those flapjacks or Frisbees? 'Cause I'm starting to wonder if I'm getting the proper nutritional sustenance."

He smiles at her warmly from his helm at the stove. "This from _Dessert-for-Dinner_ girl. I'm shocked, I tell ya." He side-eyes her cautiously, tilts his head to the side. "So … how've you been feeling lately?"

"Well, for starters, I've been a little concerned about your propensity for all things flammable," she remarks mildly, jerking her head towards the stove almost as an afterthought. Keith stares at her blankly before yelping, rushing the burning pot holder into the sink. The pot holder puts up a brave front, but eventually fizzles out once combated with a steady stream of water.

"Not funny," he frowns at her grin.

"Oh, I don't know," she disagrees, getting up to dispose of the pot holder. "I'm pretty sure it was."

Keith glares at his daughter, but can't keep up the front. He makes a show of moving every knick knack in the vicinity of the open flame to the other side of the kitchen and then finishes up with the pancakes, dividing them between two plates. "Alicia called. Said Wallace would be over in a bit," he remarks conversationally. "You guys doing anything tonight?"

"Nothing special." She regards him carefully, trying to keep her tone even and inconspicuous. "So … when were you going to tell me Logan Echolls was in a foster home?" Keith freezes for a moment, spatula midway between plate and pan. "And before you tell me you had no idea, please remember that I am in possession of an I.Q. higher than 65."

Keith finishes with the dividing and brings the plates over to the table, gently setting one down in front of her. "I wasn't intentionally not-telling you, if that's what you're asking. I just figured you had enough on your mind and that you didn't want, or need, to know."

"See, now that's kind of the definition of intentional." She remarks, but there's no bite behind her words. She spears a piece of pancake with gusto and pops it into her mouth.

"How'd you find out anyway? Press finally catch up?"

She shakes her head. "No. I saw him. Last week."

Keith sets down his fork and bites his lower lip uncomfortably. "Veronica, you aren't thinking of … starting something up with him again. Are you?"

"No." She does her best impersonation of convincing and falls a little flat. "I was just concerned, is all."

Keith meets her eyes, seems to be looking for something. After a few moments, he nods and picks his fork up again. "Okay. Just checking. Because, honestly, honey, I really don't think you should be seeing him. Even though he turned out to be innocent in all this, that doesn't mean he's right for you. After all he's been through … well, let's just say I'd be surprised if he comes out of it without any permanent damage."

Veronica nods, but keeps her eyes on her pancakes. It's never been her style to make her dad worry, and she sure as hell isn't planning on starting now. Especially considering she's still clueless to her own feelings on the subject. So she eats the remainder of her breakfast in silence, flashing reassuring smiles up at her dad whenever she feels his eyes on her, until he ultimately scrapes back his chair and starts getting ready for work.

Wallace arrives as she's closing the door on her dad, revved from shooting hoops in the park downtown. She curls up on the couch with a cup of coffee, sipping in-between play-by-play re-enactments, smiling warmly at his enthusiasm. Even if it is just the slightest bit irritating at 9 a.m. What surprises her most is how much she likes that, though. Sitting in her comfy clothes on the couch with her best friend, bed-headed and worry-free. She likes basketball because _he_ likes basketball, and maybe she's been learning all of this a little late, but she knows now that there is life after Lilly. Friends that can never be the same or completely take her place, but, for whatever reason, fill up another part of her. A part previously empty, and now, blessedly full.

Basketball anecdote over, Wallace curves the conversation to more serious matters, joining her on the sofa as she tickers away on her laptop. They talk about the upcoming testimony, how she feels about being in the same room with Aaron, and she skirts around the issue a bit because she doesn't need to tell him that part of her is terrified – he already knows. He offers to come with her the next day, and she smiles and declines. There are only so many parts of her life she wants to drag him into, and re-living one of the worst days of said-life is not one of them.

Wallace accepts this in stride, initiating small talk like it's going out of style until he happens to lean over her shoulder and catch sight of her screen. "Trina Echolls!" He exclaims, and she cringes but doesn't reply, choosing instead to print out the most recent credit card transactions. "Why in the hell are you tracking her?"

Veronica snaps her laptop closed and looks at him pointedly. "Because right now, Logan's in foster care while his sister," she practically spits the word out, "is apparently sipping Mimosas on some private beach in Mexico." She gets up to retrieve the print-out from the other room before he can respond, an inward sigh already on its way.

Wallace is surprisingly quiet when she comes back into the room, chewing absently on the end of a pen. He retains his silence even as she sits down next to him, bumps him comradelier-like with her shoulder. Finally, she gives up altogether, sighs dramatically, and nudges him with her elbow. "Okay. Spill it."

He takes a moment to look at her before putting his head in his hands and groaning. "This is a bad idea."

The fact that she had been thinking the same thing about a million times throughout the last week does nothing to deter her course of action. "Someone has to do something. She needs to come back and deal with this. Just like the rest of us have to."

Wallace eyes her suspiciously. "Why does it have to be you that does something about it? I mean, I get that you feel guilty, but bringing Trina back isn't going to help with that any." He takes one of her hands in his and squeezes. "You should just let it be."

Veronica closes her eyes and gently detaches from him. "I can't." And she knows that a big part of the reason why just might be guilt, but there's something else driving her. She takes a deep breath and puts a hand on his arm. "I know what I'm doing," she says solemnly, eyes on his. And she wants to believe it, believe that she knows this is good. But right now, she'd settle for Wallace believing her.

Wallace smiles faintly, and she feels naked before him, like he can see everything she's thinking and feeling better than she can. And maybe he can; she's so new at this best friend thing - the year and a half loss of Lilly seems to have had more than a few repercussions. But then he's talking, and she's relieved, because that means he isn't scrutinizing her anymore.

"Then you do what you need to do," he says tiredly, getting up and stepping towards the front door. "He wasn't good for you," he says quietly, turning to face her. She is slow to meet his eyes, and he doesn't miss it. "He still isn't."

Veronica takes a moment to let that sink in before nodding, replying softly and a little belatedly, "I know."

Logan spends the evening gallivanting among the dregs of society, a bunch of rebels-without-a-clue he met through his weekly therapist appointment. The waiting room is often filled with such shining prospects, but it's only been recently that he's felt inclined to acknowledge their existence. Or, more to the point, their extensive collection of mind-numbing narcotics. They think it's cool to be hanging out with a pseudo-celebrity, and he mostly thinks they're a bunch of morons. But, it still beats staring at the ceiling and listening to the exciting adventures of his very own Brady Bunch, so he takes Jack's call and agrees to meet up later at the park.

It's not long into the evening when they break out the good stuff - E and acid. "Candyflipping for everyone!" Jack bellows, and Logan wants to roll his eyes. He feels a momentary twinge at the remembrance of the last time he had been mixed up with similar types of drugs, but it doesn't last long, so he takes his pleasure with a little help from his trusty flask.

Pretty soon, they're flying down the street in Jack's Durango, windows open and whooping it up like they've just accomplished the impossible. Although, maybe they have, seeing as Jack is still managing to stay between the lines despite all the various objects he claims are headed "straight for us!" It's then that Logan realizes he never really liked acid, and wishes he had just stuck to the ecstasy.

"So … what's it like to be Aaron Echolls' son?" Trey murmurs almost incomprehensively as they're stuck at a Jack-in-the-Box drive-thru. Apparently, the unspoken agreement to never talk about personal shit has been revoked. Logan briefly considers punching the guy, but then figures it's not worth the effort.

"Why? You want my life, pal?" He smirks, and for a moment, Trey looks as if he's considering the options. _Unbelievable_. "Is that why you guys want to hang?" He addresses the entire car. "Think you're gonna find something out you can't already read in the papers?"

"Hey, man. Be cool," Jack nonchalantly instructs from the front, lazy gaze in the rearview mirror. "He didn't mean anything by it. Right, Trey?"

Trey holds his hands up in surrender. "Nah. Just forget I said anything."

Logan spends the next few minutes staring Trey down before giving up and retreating to his side of the car. The way he goes through friends, he figures he should wait at least a couple of weeks before totally alienating them. Besides, the glass of the window feels cool against his head, and the silence, for once, is inviting.

The drugs are starting to fuck with his perception of time – it feels like they've been driving through the streets of Neptune for hours, and then, only minutes. The signs out of his window blur together like a DMV vision test at 40 feet, and pretty soon, he's lost track of where they are. It's not altogether bad, though. There's a certain sense of freedom on the open road. Endless possibilities and all that shit. His mind wanders to a road trip to Vegas he had once taken with Lilly, the memory bright and not unlike a punch to the gut. They had been 15 and flying, maneuvering one of his father's cars through the desert freeway maniacally, newly purchased fake IDs grasped in nervous hands. Lilly had been somewhat innocent back then, grip firm on the dashboard every time he took a turn too fast, her laugh amused but unsure. He remembers her teasing smile, that one that got him every time, coy and so. _Fucking. Real_. It hadn't been long before he'd had to make an emergency pit stop in Bakersfield just so he could get his hands on her. He had her panties down to her knees, her warm breath in his ear, and his fingers inside her when the cop had knocked on the window, looking much like he'd rather be anywhere but there. And Lilly had just laughed …

He can't help but wonder, even now – when did it really start? That night his father berated the two of them for stealing his precious Mercedes – did his eyes linger a little too long on Lilly? How far back did it go? The thought of them together leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he's grateful he hadn't had a chance to view the infamous "tapes" before they had been sent to evidence. Because he knows some sick twisted part of him would have succumbed to the curiosity, would have needed to see them. And all he can think now is _I hate her, I love her, I hate her …_

Unexpected grief takes hold of him like a vice, and a startled gasp is out before he can do anything about it. He takes a drink and staves off the worst of it, wearily closing his eyes as he leans against the window. But then his stomach lurches repulsively, his eyes flying open as he attempts to keep the roller-coaster ride sensation at bay. A few more deep breaths, and he's relatively sure he's not going to hurl.

"You okay, man?" Jack disembodied voice floats from the front.

Logan nods mutely, and suddenly the need to be anywhere but that car is overwhelming. "Hey, Jack," he says, leaning forward just a little. "Make a right at the next light."

"Holy shit, Echolls. Is this really it?" Trey chirps as he hops out of the car, glazed eyes lit up in fascination.

Logan smiles sardonically as he pulls a set of keys out from his pocket. "The one and only." He pauses before slipping the key into the wrought iron gate, then frowns in confusion. _What the fuck?_

"What's up?" Jack asks, trying to peer over his shoulder.

"Nothing," Logan says distractedly. "It's just … let me check something out first. You guys stay here." He pushes the gate open cautiously, glances at the camera out of habit before sauntering through. It's been two months since he's set foot inside these gates, and he's more than a little unsettled. He nervously lopes up to the front door, approaches it cautiously and absently fingers his key. Experimentally, he jiggles the handle of the front door, and sure enough, it opens freely. He's starting to think he should have brought something more substantial than his flask to defend himself, but hindsight has a way of pissing him off, so he ignores the impulse to flee and slowly swings open the door all the way.

Almost immediately, he's blinded by something bright, and he finds himself swinging out reflexively. His hand grazes the side of … something, and then the light's gone. "Dude, did you ever pick the wrong house to mess with," he mutters as he tries to focus his eyes to the dark around him.

An intake of breath to his left, and then nothing. Until – "Logan?"

He freezes, recognition and confusion hitting him upside the head. And then the flashlight's back on, this time aimed somewhere other than his eyes. "Veronica! What the hell?"

She has the decency to look chagrined, but then shrugs. "Um … have you seen my topaz dangly earring? Because I think the last place I saw it was-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" he interrupts, grabbing the flashlight away from her and shining it on her. "And how the hell did you get in?"

She rolls her eyes dramatically, and suddenly he's reminded of old times. "Please. You think I haven't picked up a few breaking and entering tips after all this time working with my dad? I could pick a lock in my sleep at this point."

Logan shakes his head, small smile twitching the corners of his mouth despite himself. "Jesus. You're insane, you know that?"

"I was under the impression that was part of my charm," she smiles easily, taking a deep breath.

The sound of squealing rubber reverberates through the house, and Logan's just about to investigate when he hears it in the distance – a fast-approaching siren. He groans and turns to Veronica. "Did your Daddy ever teach you to turn of a silent alarm? Cause that might have been useful to learn _before_ you decided to break in."

...tbc...


	3. Part 3

The whine of the sirens grows closer by the second, and suddenly he's grabbing Veronica's hand and pulling her in the direction of the pool house. She allows it for the moment, feet stumbling as she struggles to keep up, until she comes to her senses and snatches her hand back. "What the hell are we running from?" she hisses, rubbing her wrist a little. He stalls sluggishly, blinking at her. "This is your house, Logan. Remember? They're not going to arrest you for being here."

His eyes cut over to the lights flashing through the front gate. "Just trust me on this, Veronica," he says impatiently, once again grabbing her hand. "The last thing I need is to deal with the cops. We have to go."

Veronica wrinkles her brow and stares at him, until the dots connect. "What's wrong with your eyes?" she breathes out slowly. Definitely not Vicodin.

"What, night-vision is on your ever-growing list of superpowers?" he snaps.

"I'm thinking it wouldn't be a stretch for Stevie Wonder to notice those pupils."

"Well aren't you just the sunshine of my ass?" He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Sure, Veronica. We'll play it your way then. I'll be the dutiful little lawbreaker and wait for the cops. They'll arrest me for consumption of whatever, pretty much guaranteeing my stint in foster care and therapy for an additional 6 months. Then on the way to the car, I can explain how I found you breaking into my house for God knows what reason." He cocks his head to the side and observes her mordantly. "Or maybe you'd care to explain that."

Checkmate. He watches as she glances back at the door one last time then glares at him as she nods begrudgingly. He sighs in relief, and leads her to the back of the house.

"Just where do you think we're going to hide?" she stage-whispers to his back, but he doesn't answer. Just glides open the slider and pulls her through, careful to shut it quietly behind them.

The key comes out and they're through the door to the pool house. He catches her staring up at the exposed wiring, ugly tangles like dark spider webs spread against the expanse of the ceiling. The Sheriff Department's way of collecting evidence. A hand goes gently to her arm, and he tries not to wince when she jumps at the contact. "The bookcase," he says, guiding her over.

She frowns, jaw dropping just the slightest bit when he slides the case open, revealing … nothing. The audio visual equipment as well as the custom-made entertainment center is all gone, wall tracks bare from paint the only indication anything had been there at all. She turns to him, corollary question-mark in her eyes, and he shrugs. "It was either that or the bed. And call me crazy, but there's no degree of satisfaction in hacking the shit out of feathers."

"You did this?"

He nods. "After I left your place."

Something catches the corner of his eye and prompts him to shove Veronica inside the bookcase. She endures it with an indignant "Hey!" and then they're pitched in darkness.

For a while, all he can hear is her slow breathing and the hammering of his own heart and then, keys jingling. He risks a glance at Veronica, but her eyes are trained to the front, back rigid against the wall.

"Are all you Rent-a-Cops so skittish?" he hears as the door swings open. Logan's pretty sure it's the same asshole who interrogated him that day at the precinct – Lamb.

"Echolls family preference," someone says, a little miffed. "If the silent alarm goes off, we're to report to local law enforcement and go in when they--you--arrive."

A loud clanging and then: "What do you suppose that'd be worth on E-bay now?"

"Far be it from me to usurp your authority, officer, but I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to touch anything."

"You're right. We should wait until after the conviction. Just to be sure." The Rent-a-Cop starts sputtering some sort of half-assed response, but Lamb drowns him out with an irritated "Shut up."

Their footsteps fade a little, indicating that they've moved their search on to the common room, and Logan finally feels as if he can breathe. He shifts from one foot to the other, arm inadvertently grazing against Veronica's when he notices something's not right. At first glance, she appears to be fine, her breathing a little shaky, sure, but that's to be expected considering the situation. The slight twitch in her jaw catches his attention, and it's then when he notices the tremble in her shoulders. All of the signs of someone quietly terrified. And as far as he knows, Veronica Mars doesn't "do" terrified.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he risks whispering into her ear, and he's not really surprised when she doesn't answer. He is, however, surprised when he feels her fingers thread through his, squeezing through the trembling, almost hard enough to hurt. He tells himself he only allows the contact because he's worried any sudden movements on his part might draw attention to their presence. But in truth, something's niggling in the back of his mind – an almost memory, maybe …

_They sat in Veronica's living room, and she did her best to avoid eye contact. As soon as Aaron's name was mentioned, he found the flask back in his hand, and this time, she made no move to take it from him._

_"He locked me in this old freezer," she said. "When I came to, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing. Until he started talking. I tried to hold out as long as I could. Wouldn't tell him where I put the tapes. But … I could smell the gasoline and I knew what he was going to do and … he kept kicking the freezer …" her voice broke and she trailed off, taking a deep breath before continuing. He took a slow pull from his flask and watched her, expressionless as he fought fingers that itched to reach for her. Instead, he took another swig and waited for her to finish._

_"I heard my dad, and then fighting. Lots of things breaking. Then … this like, whoosh sound. And I knew. I could feel the heat and taste the gas in the back of my throat …" she looked up at him, and he didn't think he'd ever seen a look like that on her face. "I've never been more scared in my life," she whispered._

Logan looks down at the death grip Veronica has on his hand, takes note of her tense shoulders and feels like the biggest ass in the history of asses. Sure, it's not exactly like he's clairvoyant, or even that perceptive these days, but suddenly everything falls into place with a sickening crunch. And not in that vaguely psychedelic, coming down off of acid ways.

"There's nothing here," Lamb's voice filters back into the room. "Whoever it was is obviously long gone, and it doesn't look like anything's taken."

"So … who do you think it was?"

"Probably an obsessed fan or something. One of the more aggressive paparazzi. Who knows?" Logan hears the door open and Lamb's voice begins to fade. "Let's get the hell out of here. God, that's the last fucking time-"

And then the door clicks shut and all he can hear is muffled voices. Logan counts to sixty slowly, just to be sure, before sliding the bookcase open cautiously. Veronica's hand slides out of his and works at shoving the doors open more quickly, and she nearly trips over herself getting out. "Easy," he tells her as he follows. "They could still be around."

She rolls her eyes and smirks. "Drugs will make you paranoid. You should be well aware of that by now."

"Well, I guess that means you're back to your old delightful self," he nods with a small smile. She looks at him quizzically, and he gestures to the door. "I'm going to make sure they're really gone," he says distractedly as he slips outside.

Logan's back in less than ten minutes, and Veronica sighs in relief. "I was beginning to worry that you forgot about me," she says half-teasingly as she follows him back to the house.

"I wish," he mutters as he fishes in his pocket for the key. "Your annoyance has a way of leaving an impression." He unlocks the door and slips inside, pointing to the rectangular box located on the wall. "Now this," he says, flipping the bottom open and stabbing a series of numbers, "is an alarm system. Most people who own anything worth owning install these things so bad people," he cocks his head to the side and contemplates her, "or, as the case may be, crazy people, don't come in their houses and take any of their shit. Well, at least not without getting shot."

Veronica suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and smiles placatingly. "Thank you, Oh Wise One, for that informative tutorial. I'll keep it in mind for next time."

She makes a move to leave, but he grabs her by the arm. "Not so fast." He looks up at her, eyes stone-cold. "What were you doing here anyway?"

Veronica debates between telling him the truth, some elaborate lie, or simply shaking him off and running. She's pretty sure she can out-run him in his current condition, and there's something to be said for avoidance tactics – they really can't be as unhealthy as the gurus claimed. Especially considering the look he's giving her now.

In the end, she takes a deep breath and settles on half-truth. "I … was looking for something crucial that can be used in your father's case." Sure, Trina isn't actually on the preliminary list, but she was listed as a potential witness for the future.

He blinks at her and hesitates, drops his eyes from hers before gritting his teeth. "The police have been through here a million times. They've collected more evidence than a hobo collects fleas. Just what else do you think Aaron has hidden in here? My dead mother?"

She can tell he's just as shocked by the accusation as she is, when his eyes widen marginally and drop to the floor. She regains her composure first and shifts uncomfortably. "I didn't know what I was looking for. I just thought … well, since the police did such a good job last time at collecting evidence … I don't know. Maybe they missed something."

And something in the way he looks at her and immediately looks away tugs at the corners of her chest, and she doesn't like it one bit. She knows he's hardened himself to her, knows that there's probably no coming back from all they've done to each other, and really, she's generally okay with that. Sure, she's entertained the possibility that some day, maybe, they could start over as acquaintances, forge the bond of the equally disenfranchised, go out to a movie once in a millennium, but nothing more. And she's working on staving off those almost-feelings she'd developed for him last year. But she's not quite there yet, not really sure when she will be there. And for him to look at her like she's a stranger, like she could never understand him or know what he's going through, hurts just a little more than it should.

After what feels like forever, he looks her in the eye and gives just the smallest of nods before making his way towards the liquor cabinet. "Find anything?" he asks over a shoulder, and she's not sure if it's tinged with hope or dread.

"No," she shakes her head, even though he's not looking. She watches as he refills the flask, suppresses a smile. He seems to sense it and turns back to her.

"There's a certain amount of comfort in knowing that despite my father's incarceration, the hired help still find it prudent to stock the bar."

"I'm sure," she agrees with a half smile. She declines with a shake of her head when he tips the bottle in her direction and studies him. She wants to tell him that other things haven't changed either. That she's still here for him just as much as the substances he's shoveling into his system these days, but she's pretty sure he'll just laugh. Or worse, say nothing, as if she didn't even merit a reaction. Besides, she's still got work to do, and mulling over the complexities of her feeling and his apparent lack thereof won't win any awards in the productivity field.

"Hey, Logan, do you mind if I get a soda?" He shrugs and gestures vaguely towards the kitchen, so she smiles her thanks and goes. Once inside, she makes a beeline for the third cabinet to the right of the sink. Weevil's grandmother had been very informative, specific to a T, and she has no trouble finding the pile of mail situated on the second shelf. She takes a deep breath, glances at the entrance just to make sure Logan's still otherwise occupied before flipping through it. At last, her eyes light on a familiar address and recipient. She rips open the envelope, careful not to damage it too much and pulls out the contents, scanning them quickly before folding them up and stuffing them in the left pocket of her jeans. Another deep breath, and then she's pulling another piece of paper out of her other pocket. She stares at it hesitantly, glances at the entranceway one last time, and finally stuffs the piece of paper into the envelope.

She's just closing the cabinet door when Logan saunters in, and she does her best to appear innocent. "I couldn't find the soda, so …" she trails off and gestures to the cabinets. He eyes her suspiciously and pops open the refrigerator door, revealing a shelf of meticulously stocked Coca Cola. She smiles and shrugs, takes the proffered drink from his hands. "Thanks. I guess I should be going. You know. Big day tomorrow and all that."

He nods, and she doesn't waste any time getting to the front door.

"Hey Veronica." She stalls and briefly considers bolting, but something stops her and she turns to face him. He grimaces, as if in pain, and slowly rolls his eyes up to meet hers. "You wouldn't happen to want to give me a ride?"

Initially, the walk to her car is oddly quiet. Logan notes that she seems to have parked somewhere in the vicinity of Pluto, so it's a struggle to keep the swaying to a minimum. His skin feels warm and his head feels dizzy, and he really wishes he hadn't done the acid. Not to mention the fifth of scotch back at the house.

She stops suddenly in front of him, and he bites back a curse as he narrowly avoids a collision. "Logan … the cameras."

He blinks at her, wondering what possible relevance cameras could have to the current location of her car, until he catches her meaning and rolls his eyes. "They never tape. Once in a while – big party or event – we hire security and people. And then there are tapes. But not normally." She looks back at him like she doesn't quite believe him, and he sighs. "I'm high, not mentally-challenged. We don't. Have. Tapes. Now, can we please find your damn car before I die of exposure?"

He thinks she mutters something about drama queens, but since she continues walking, he's willing to overlook it.

"So … what were you doing there?" she asks quietly after a couple of minutes, eyes on the sidewalk in front of them.

He grimaces and shakes his head. "You'll think it's stupid."

"I already think most everything you do is stupid."

"Well, let's just say more stupid than usual." She waits patiently for him to finish, and he sighs heavily. "I was with some guys, we were bored, and so I thought I'd give them a tour. Get the whole Aaron Echolls experience out of the way."

"Doesn't sound stupid," she muses after a bit. "Desperate, maybe, but not stupid."

"Thanks ever so," he says demurely, gliding up to walk next to her.

"Any time." She grins, side-eyes him before pressing on. "And your … should I be calling them friends? Where the hell did they go?"

He shrugs, not picking up the tone in her voice. "Heard the cops and bolted, I guess."

"Hmm."

He glances at her, eyebrow piqued. "What?"

She lets out a long suffering sigh. "It's just--they don't sound much like friends. Leaving you to get caught by the cops and everything."

He scoffs, and it's then when she realizes her mistake. "Yeah. You can imagine how different it would have been had my girlfriend left me for the cops." She stops, expression apologetic and mouth opening to say something, but he waves her off, irritated. "Just forget it, all right? Jesus. Can we just find your car already? Where the hell is it, Cambodia?" He makes a show of stomping off, and gets his foot caught in an overgrown root. Wind-milling, he grabs onto Veronica reflexively, pulling her down with him. He hits the pavement hard, right elbow picking up the brunt of the fall, and he rolls a little, grasping his elbow in one hand as he leans his head against the grass. Veronica _oomphs_ her own fall, managing to mostly land on him. In the end, they're sprawled in chaos on the sidewalk.

Veronica's foot twists underneath one of his legs as she props herself up on her arms. "Great, Logan. Just great. As if hiding from the cops couldn't be the highlight of my evening." She attempts to disengage her leg and only succeeds in twisting it further.

"You have a twig in your hair, princess," Logan mutters helpfully from below.

She jiggles her leg a little more, and he clamps his thighs closed in an effort to shield himself from permanent damage. Veronica glares at him. "Keep that up, and I'll roll us toward that special treat Sparky left on the neighbor's front lawn. Then we'll see who has the more embarrassing hair supplement."

He gapes at her, she raises an eyebrow defiantly, and that's enough to make him burst into laughter. She looks at him like he's gone insane and that only serves to make him laugh harder. Her head tilts just so, and he can't quite make out the expression on her face, but now she's smiling with him, ducking her head in amusement.

He's still snickering when she kisses him, barest touch of lips against his, and he freezes, not sure what to do. Not sure what she's even thinking. She pulls back a little, eyes hooded, uncertain and tentative, and he knows it's over for him. Doesn't hesitate to meet her half-way when she leans in again, wrap an arm around her waist, and crush her to him. She lets out a startled gasp, and his lips trail over the pulse points in her neck, warm and wet, dipping to the curve of her shoulder before returned to her mouth. And God, he's known that he misses this, but he's never realized just how much until now, sprawled out on a sidewalk a few blocks from his home.

He thinks she moans a little, or maybe that's him. He's so far gone at this point he doesn't know which way is up. Something between them ignites, sparks into fire, and suddenly his hands are everywhere, her breath is shallow, and he's beginning to regret the ecstasy as well, given it's many side effects. She shifts just the slightest bit, running her hands coarsely through his hair, pulling him to her, fierce and needy and …

"Ba ding ding ding ding di di ding ding bah bahbeday…"

Logan surges upward, nearly upending Veronica in the process and looks around furtively. "What the hell is that?"

Veronica sighs and rolls her eyes, awkwardly reaching into her pocket to retrieve her cell phone. "Ill conceived attempt to be one of the cool kids," she sighs again, checking the caller I.D.. before glancing up at him.

"Your dad?" he guesses.

She nods, picks herself off the ground and staggers down the sidewalk a few feet. He figures he should follow suit, brushing himself off as he waits for her to finish with her dad.

tbc ...


	4. Part 4

She's a vision in black, sensible suit clashing slightly with somewhat non-sensible three-inch heels as she clickety-clacks down the courthouse hallway, heart in her throat. The wardrobe and heels were meant to instill confidence, make her feel taller – stronger – than she feels, but they seem to be having the reverse effect. Mostly, she feels like a bonifide phony, playing dress-up in Mommy's clothes that will always be one size too big. Worse, she's caught herself stumbling at least five times in those fucking heels, and she's only had them on since she got out of the car. _Nothing says dependable authoritative witness like the girl that falls flat on her face while testifying_, she muses sagely.

She checks her watch for the zillionth time as she rounds the corner, the door to the courtroom she's memorized long ago looming before her. She stands just outside of it for a moment, suddenly short of breath, knowing that just on the other side of that door is something, someone, she's not quite ready for. For 10 whole seconds she decides that she's not going through with it, that she's not equipped to face him. Not now, not 100 years from now. But another image of Lilly, eyes dead and sightless by the side of the pool and she's taking a deep breath, jaw set. Determined.

The courtroom is empty save for the prosecution lawyers. They look up from their paperwork, flash reassuring smiles and stand to greet her. "Veronica Mars?" the man questions as he extends his hand, eyebrow raised. She nods in affirmation and takes his hand hesitantly, noting the lackluster grip. He lets go quickly and gestures to his female associate. "I'm Ben Parker, and I assume you've already met Mattie Richards." He doesn't wait for a confirmation from her before barreling on. "The defendant will be here in a few moments. Why don't you take a seat and make yourself more comfortable while Mattie and I explain to you how this little hearing is going to play out."

Mattie has no part in any explanations, it turns out. Veronica does her best to keep up with Ben's verbal homage to _War and Peace_-for-court-proceedings, but her mind wanders nonetheless. To Lilly, mostly, and what it means that she's _finally_ able to do something for her. Even if it's much too late.

But there's still that taint of bitterness to her vendetta. Lilly had once been her world, her shining example in cherry-flavored lip gloss. The girl she'd looked up to so desperately that she'd sacrificed what little hopes she had for happiness to pursue her killer. And Logan had been her adversary, the one who made it more difficult and, at the same time, easier to go through with her quest. His biting remarks and unending torment to her psyche both jarred and fueled her. Made her angry, made her search for the killer all the more meaningful, because, God help her, she was going to stick it to the bastard when it was all over. Show him that he was a selfish son-of-a-bitch, that he didn't care about Lilly at all. That his reverence for Lilly in those days was but a shadow of what Veronica felt, of what she was willing to do.

But … things had changed, and the Logan she began to know was infinitely more compassionate and giving that she had ever thought him capable of. Sure, he was still an ass, but not the misanthrope she had originally pegged him as. Gradually, the rose-colored glasses she wore when revisiting Lilly began to come off, and she see Lilly differently, especially once the evidence of her affair with Aaron surfaced. Now she sees her as she was – neither saint nor villain. A highly volatile and sometimes selfish tornado of a girl. Her best friend.

"… so just tell it the way you remember. And don't leave out any details, no matter how insignificant they seem to be. They may be important to the case regardless."

She nods at Ben and smiles wanly. He seems satisfied with her response and goes back to shuffling through the paperwork set out in front of Mattie and him. A few moments later, the judge enters quietly and sits. The court reporter soon follows, and a couple of other people, and pretty soon, they're just waiting on Aaron.

It's a full ten minutes before they bring Aaron out, shackled at the wrists and waist. His eyes seek out hers, and for a bone-chilling moment she's sharing a look with the man who tried to kill her. The man who killed Lilly. It feels all sorts of wrong and she directs her eyes to the documentation the lawyer had given her instead. She can still feel his leer though, and that's enough to add to the nausea that's been lingering in her ever since finding the sex tapes.

The hearing itself goes relatively quickly as she lays out the sordid story from the beginning, the lawyers stopping her every once in a while to ask her a question or demand clarification. She talks about spending time at the Echolls' before Lilly's death, her relationship with Logan before, after, and more recently. Her initial suspects, Aaron's Christmas stabbing, Trina and how she came to suspect that Aaron was beating Logan. And it's not as hard as she thought it would be, as long as she keeps her eyes on the judge and ignores the impulse to cry. It seems that nitpicking the details of her best friend's murder has a way of opening up the emotional floodgates, and she doesn't like it one bit.

Aaron has affected the look of the casually interested, eyes roving over her lazily as she relays the story, seemingly unconcerned as she accuses him of murder and informs the judge of his attempt on her life. Her voice breaks a bit when she talks about her dad running through the fire, and her gaze inadvertently shifts towards him, catching the small smile flicker and then die on his lips. The wince is involuntary, and she's just hoping the judge doesn't see it, that he doesn't see it.

The judge dismisses her not too long after she finishes, and she breathes out slowly in relief as she collects her things. She's almost to the door when she hears it, gravelly voice wrapped around her name like foreboding personified, and suddenly she's back in that freezer, the walkie talkie grasped in her shaky hands. The judge orders Aaron's lawyer to keep his client quiet, and she turns slowly, unable to help herself, steeling herself against the inevitable. Aaron's eyes are on her, but no longer indifferent. They exude hatred, threaten without saying a word, and suddenly she can't find the door fast enough.

She staggers through, heel slipping out from under her as she hangs on to the handle. And she's beyond pissed at her herself for letting him get to her. Allowing him that victory, no matter how small.

Her father is seated at the bench across the hallway, looking a little more agitated than usual as his gaze levels with hers. The reason for his discomfort makes itself clear when she follows his line of sight and notices Logan, sitting a few benches down, eyeing her trepidatiously. And, God, she thinks she'd be better at hiding surprise considering her line of work, but she just isn't, because now she's staring, mouth slightly agape as she watches Logan rise to his feet uncertainly. Watches him trade looks with her Dad, hesitate uncomfortably, and shove his hands in his pockets, apparently finding some sort of spot on the floor infinitely more interesting that whatever's going on with her.

Veronica does her best to smile, but it freezes mid-way when she turns her attention to her father and catches sight of his sober expression. He rises to meet her, striding over quickly before enveloping her in a bear hug. When he pulls away, she's relieved to see concern instead of anger as he sighs heavily. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, jerking his head at the courtroom door.

She closes her eyes and nods tiredly. "Yeah. I think so. It … didn't take too long," she adds quietly.

Keith nods and looks somewhere over her shoulder. "Suppose it's my turn then," he muses, shaking his head. And then his eyes are on hers, and she can already see the disappointment lingering behind them. "Veronica …," he sighs after a time, lowering his voice. "I realize that you're practically a grown woman, and that you're free to be friends with whomever you want … but. I thought we had an understanding. About Logan." She looks down at the floor, and he tips her chin upwards to look her in the eye. "So you can imagine why I'm a little confused as to why he's here."

Veronica holds his gaze for a few moments before sighing. "I … I don't know what to say, Dad. I didn't know he would be here."

"But you obviously told him about the hearing."

"Yes," she affirms honestly.

"So, what now? Are you two …?"

"No," she answers slowly, eyes darting over her father's shoulder to where Logan's still standing. She sighs, tries to look her dad in the eye and settles for his chin. "We're just … talking. And for the record, there was no understanding. That was you projecting your hopes on me, and me letting you think what you wanted. And I'm sorry for that. Really. But … I can't just turn my back on him. Not again. Not now."

Keith stares down at her for awhile, finally deflates and shakes his head sadly. "You know I love you. I just want what's best for you. And believe me, honey, this is not it." She tries to turn away in frustration, but he puts a hand on her shoulder. "You're too close to everything right now to realize it. It's dangerous to get involved with him. He's dangerous. And I don't mean physically," he says quickly when she tries to argue. "There are worse kinds of danger than physical." He sighs again and releases her. "Just promise … promise me you'll be careful."

She stares at him for a moment, takes in his concern and decides it's useless to be angry. After all, she'd had it both ways once. Her mother hadn't cared enough to inform her that she may have been dating her own brother, so her father's decidedly more involved approach is distinctly preferable. At least he cares enough to … care. She tries her hand at obedient and nods begrudgingly. "I will," she promises, and she hopes she's not fooling herself as well.

He gives her one last kiss on the head before disappearing behind the courtroom doors, and Veronica's suddenly left alone with Logan. Her eyes find his almost immediately, and she feels the heat between their gazes like a jolt. Too many things left unsaid. Too many things left unfinished.

They had left things last night behind on the sidewalk, the obnoxiousness of her "Crazy Frog" ring tone and the subsequent conversation with her father spoiling the mood somewhat. She'd returned to Logan only to find him distant, avoiding eye contact and doing his best to keep his own personal space, so she had supposed that he felt whatever had happened with them was momentary insanity, familiar but dangerous territory. Part of her was grateful they didn't have to ruin it by talking it to death, but a larger, more substantial part of her craved a discussion. Wondered what the hell was going on.

The ride back to his car had been excruciating – too many long silences between the equally awkward chitchat. She hasn't felt that uncomfortable since having to watch Lilly's sex tapes with Duncan. And through it all, she thinks she felt his gaze on her, but every time she had turned to check, his eyes had been fixed firmly on the road in front of them.

"I didn't know your Dad was going to be here," he says sheepishly when she's close enough. He's still not quite looking her in the eye, and it unnerves her.

She smiles grimly and shakes her head. "Yeah. He said the same thing about you."

"I can imagine." He shuffles awkwardly, but then he's looking at her, really looking at her, and it's all she can do not to look away. "You feel like getting smashed?" he finally asks, eyebrow raised suggestively, and she smiles, ducking her head.

"When are you going to learn that alcohol is not the cure-all to dealing with the aftermath of a raving psychopath?"

"So, that's a 'no' then?"

She glances up at him, studies him through lowered lashes before smiling diffidently. "Actually, that's a 'hell yes'."

They're almost to the beach when she breaks the silence, flipping honey-colored hair over a shoulder and eying him critically. He happens to hate that look on her, mostly because he knows where it's going.

"You haven't asked about your Dad," she states matter-of-factly, and he notices the way her voice hesitates on "Dad", like she's not sure if she should refer to him like that.

He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes trained on the silver Camaro in front of him. "Don't really care enough to inquire about him these days."

"That's not what I meant-"

"I know what you meant," he snaps as he pulls off the exit ramp and into the parking lot. He glances at her through the corner of his eye, and sighs. "Fine. How's the case?" he asks in his best couldn't-care-less intonation.

"Just preliminary stuff right now, but the lawyers seem excited."

"Are those the prosecution lawyers you're referring to or the defense?"

"The prosecution," she says unnecessarily. He watches her fiddle with the edge of her skirt, playing with a loose thread. "Anyway, they think there's more than enough evidence to convict. Between our testimonies, the tapes, and Aaron's public indiscretions-" he laughs bitterly, and she trudges on, "-they shouldn't have a hard time at all making this quick. Which is good. No need to draw it out."

"Yeah, no need to do that," he says acerbically, swinging the car into the closest available spot and jerking it into park. He lights a cigarette before hopping out, leaving her to follow.

She's doesn't bring up his father again once she catches up to him, and for that he's grateful. For now, he's content to walk with her silently, watching the sun as it dips lower in the horizon and changes the colors of everything around it. She seems similarly entranced, shoes swinging loosely by her fingers as she struggles to maintain her balance in the sand. "I'm not sure this is beach-appropriate," she jokes, gesturing to the suit as she unbuttons the jacket, shrugging it off her shoulders.

"Like anyone here will notice. This beach isn't exactly known for it's super-hotties and surfing."

She raises an eyebrow. "Super-hotties?"

"MTV. Bonnie's special brand of crack. No one's been spared." He hands her the flask after taking a swig, and she does the same after a moment's hesitation. She returns it once the initial gagging is over with, and he smiles insincerely. "I guess I forgot to mention it was tequila. Oops."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't turn it down when he hands the flask off to her again, this time taking a slightly larger sip with minimal expression. He nods admiringly, and pockets the flask for the time being before stubbing out his cigarette in the sand and plopping down.

The sun's nearly touching the ocean now, painting their skin in golds and crimsons. Warming from the outside in. She's got her eyes closed against the glare, and he finds himself staring at her mouth, so he takes out the flask again to distract himself. Her hand brushes against his, and he looks down to see her open palm, waiting. Another pull from the flask and he hands it off to her, watches as her lips wrap around the top, and God, why couldn't the impulse to kiss her just up and die already? He's still staring when her eyes pop open, see him watching her, and he sighs, looking away.

"This is insane," he mutters, scrubbing his hands through his hair before looking back at her inquiringly. She holds his gaze, and maybe it's his imagination that her breathing is a little sharper, but he doesn't think so. His fingers reach out, draw a line up her arm lightly, slow when they reach her shoulder. "What happened last night," he begins, voice low, "was just … it was a mistake. It shouldn't happen again." But even as he says it, he's moving closer, body tingling in all the wrong places.

"Uh huh," she breathes, eyes on his, gaze unwavering, and now she's moving closer too, and he knows he's not drunk enough to blame this on alcohol, but he doesn't care anymore. So he kisses her hard, lips colliding hungrily with hers. Throws his arms around her waist and crushes her to him, the flask sinking to the sand, forgotten.

His fingers thread through her hair as he pushes her down to lay on the sand, and she wraps her legs around him tight enough to bruise. And this is how it's always been between them, he thinks, hand digging into her waist. Intense and brutal and so fucking immediate; it's a wonder how long it had taken them to try this out in the first place. And, not for the first time, he thinks of Lilly, aches for her simplicity, because at least with her, he _knew_ what the hell he was doing. Knew they made sense in a way that he's not sure he and Veronica ever will.

She stops him when he's popping open the second button of her blouse, hand gentle but persistent on his, and he sighs, propping himself on one arm as he looks at her through eyes hazy with desire. "I don't think we should …" she trails off and gestures to the beach, cheeks coloring, and he grins at her embarrassment. "I mean, public sexual exploits are _so_ last year," she jokes with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

He nods knowingly, threads his fingers through hers and squeezes. "Who said anything about sex anyway?" he whispers against her ear, as he pulls her to her feet.

She's still trembling when she gets home, even though it's been half an hour since he dropped her off at her car. As a direct result, the door's abnormally difficult to open – it takes her nearly three minutes to unlock it. She crumples wearily onto the sofa, feet poised to lay on the coffee table until a knock at the door interrupts. Sighing, she manages to get up and let Wallace in, who's frothing at the mouth to know what happened at the hearing.

She regales him with a tale not too far from the truth, leaving out the Logan parts for the time-being, clamps down on the urge to feel guilty about that. She promises herself as soon as she figures out what the hell is going on, Wallace will be the first to know about it.

Trina's call comes when they're fighting about which take-out to over-indulge in, and her voice is loud enough for even Wallace to make out what's going on.

"Calm down," she says into the phone, still striving for discretion despite Wallace's glare that suggests it isn't really necessary anymore. "Like I said, all I'm asking for is a meeting. Come by my apartment tonight at nine, and you'll get it back."

She stabs the end button quickly and turns to Wallace, who seems to be studying a spot on the ceiling. After a time, he sighs and looks her in the eye. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Then don't," she shrugs.

Wallace shakes his head and plops down on the couch. "You better start at the beginning. And please, for the love of God, tell me I didn't hear that Trina Echolls' passport was stolen."

tbc ...


End file.
